Upon the third storm-cracked night, under the light of a bloated blood red moon, the Razor of ManBeasts was crafted. A show of revenge, or the creation of a druid gone mad, no one knows for sure. But the ManBeasts walk the nighted forests now, ever since then, not a coincidence I say.

You felt a slight tingle as the man looked you in the eyes, and he is currently approaching confidently with a look of recognition on his face. He smiles and you know you know him, you just don’t know how.

The follow string of Mirror-folk evolutions, Mihradhz, Mihrral, and Mihradamagus, are collectively known as The Mirr. They are all curious and slightly annoying, each in their own way. They advance through their lives by pestering the rare mortals who visit their plane.

A warped and twisted, low-standing, tree covered in dark bark. It's wild, overgrown tangle of branches creep across the ground in a large circle. The entire thing is covered in a multitude of thorns that shift from a bright acidic green to a deep blood red.

Devjuha backed away from the engaged foe, his opposite wand moving further out. He held the rod sideways, bracing it against his chest. Then ran, full speed, to the right. He caught an unwary opponent, lingering near the edge of the battle, right in the neck with the vicious assault from his Rod of Duality.

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What if cancer is not an ailment if one has a will powerful enough, and knows what do do. What if one using the right techniques could control it and use it to become immortal, or to grow into something else?